


fireflies

by bluesandbirds



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Brothers, Coming of Age, Family Dynamics, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesandbirds/pseuds/bluesandbirds
Summary: Tommy Innit-Craft is 15 and only just figuring out his place in the world.Tommy Innit is 11 and only just figuring out his place in his family.a tale of growing up, fucking up, and banging taste in music
Relationships: Bitzel & Tommyinnit, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), LukeOrSomething & Tommyinnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Time Deo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 33
Kudos: 301
Collections: MCYT Fic Rec





	fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> teen coming of age fic inspired by tommy's chill mix on spotify, all the lyrics in these chapters come from songs on there
> 
> guys,,, i am so bad at summaries as i've said many, many times before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _don't know if they really meant it_

_I felt that I could drift through life on all these pretty sentiments_

“Open it,” Tommy says, leaning forward in his chair. Across the kitchen table, his older brother sits staring down a large envelope set on the table in front of him. Techno’s got a semi-constipated look on his face and Tommy would make fun of him for it if he wasn’t so excited. His fingers tap an eager cadence across the wooden tabletop. “Just open it.”

Techno releases a frustrated breath. “Shut up, Tommy.”

He makes an affronted noise. “I don’t understand why you won’t just open it. It’s not gonna bite.”

“I know it’s not gonna...” Techno sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair. “I know it’s not gonna bite, I just… need a second.”

Tommy groans. “We’ve been sitting here for ages.”

“It’s been five minutes.”

“Ages,” he repeats. He drums his hands on the table more forcefully. “Wilbur didn’t take this long when it was his turn.”

“ _Wilbur_ didn’t care where he went to school,” Techno drags out the first syllable of their absent brothers name, “As long as he had his guitar and his pen he’d be fine.”

Tommy flicks at a crumb on the wooden surface. It disappears off the edge. He sighs.

“But you care?” he asks.

“I do.” Techno nods. He gives the large envelope another cautious prod.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Well, I’ll just do it then.” And he makes a grab for the packet.

“No!” Techno lurches forward, smacking his hands away. “I want to do it.”

Falling back into his seat, Tommy huffs. “Then fucking do it already.” He spares a glance at the digital clock on the oven door. “Phil’s gonna be home soon and you said you didn’t want him here when you opened it.”

“I just don’t want him to be…” Techno blows out a breath. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Tommy pumps a fist in the air. “Yes. Finally.”

“Okay, here goes.”

The paper gives easily under his shaking fingers, Techno pulls out one sheet of printer paper and lets the rest of the envelope drop to the table.

Tommy watches in anticipation.

Brown eyes scan quickly over line after line. His mouth silently forms the words as he reads them. Finally, Techno sets the paper down on the table, a few shades paler than before.

“Well?” Tommy says, smile already tugging at his lips. (“ _They only send big packets to people who’ve already got in. For all the welcome stuff,” Wilbur explains, his own acceptance letter held loosely in hand. “That’s how you know, Tommy.”)_

“I got in,” Techno says faintly. “I got in.”

Tommy’s face breaks into a full blown beam. “Fuck yeah,” he exclaims, punching the air with real enthusiasm. “I knew you could do it, big man. PogChamp.”

“PogChamp,” Techno breathes.

“You gotta tell Phil,” Tommy says, whipping his phone out of his pocket. “And I’ll text Wilbur.” 

Techno blinks. “I gotta tell Phil and you’ll text Wilbur.”

Muscle memory finds Wilbur’s contact. “Uh huh, that’s what I said, big man.” He glances up from his screen. Techno’s staring vacantly at the _12 Months of Fursuits_ calendar Schlatt got Wilbur for Christmas last year.

“I got in,” his brother says again, still unmoving on his side of the table. “I got in.”

Tommy nods. “You did,” he confirms. 

A slow smile spreads across Techno’s face. He laughs a little. “Tommy, I got in. I got into my _dream school._ I’m going to my dream school.”

"Hell yeah you are!"

Techno releases a whoop that startles the both of them when it leaves his mouth, but Tommy quickly responds with a cheer of his own. He leaps out of his chair. The two brothers dance around the kitchen, making a racket and probably pissing off their neighbors, but Techno's got the dumbest grin on his face so Tommy will take whatever complaints old Ms. Kadie will bring to their door later.

* * *

Tommy sits on the stone steps leading up to the main building of SMPHS _,_ backpack at his side and phone in hand. His cheap earbuds do very little to drown out the shouting of rowdy teenagers and honking of cars driven by rowdy teenagers.

_"Then you're left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya. You're a sunflower. I think your love would be too much."_

The mid-afternoon sun bears down unforgiving heat making Tommy's back and neck sweaty in the grossest teenage boy way.

Idly, he watches an upperclassman with a buzz cut stick his head out the window of his truck to shout at a pair of freshmen crossing the lot in front of him. One of the girls flips him off while the other tugs at her arm, trying to get her friend to just cross. When the boy drops back into his car and moves forward, the bright white body of the car flashes the sun's glare directly into Tommy's eyes. He winces and averts his gaze down to his phone.

Taking a moment to adjust to the darkness of his screen, Tommy frowns when he sees a red bubble in the corner of his message app. A swipe up reveals he forgot to switch his phone off _do not disturb_ after class.

 _Wilby_. He rolls his eyes when he sees the contact name Wilbur insisted upon. _You could change it_ , a little voice reminds him, _he's not here to change it back._

He opens up their message thread.

Wilby >

_ Wed, Nov 24, 1:04 PM  _

_Bitch._

_fight me child_

He snorts, eyes dropping down to Wilbur's response to his message from last night.

_ Today 2:33 PM_

_hell yeah thats our techno blade!_

_knew he could do it_

_they'd be stupid not to take him_

And then when Tommy didn't respond, he followed up a few minutes later with:

_is dad still mad?_

Tommy bites his lip, fingers twitching.

_Not mad. Just misses you._

His thumbs hover over the keyboard, forming sentences he doesn't have the guts to send.

Three dots on Wilbur's side pop up.

He swipes down.

_college is a lot more work than i expected_

_spring break for sure yeah?_

_That's what you said last time,_ Tommy writes. He shakes his head and hits the backspace.

 _Yeah no for sure i get it,_ he tries and deletes just as quickly.

_That's what you said last time_

He's never minced his words before. 

_i know tommy_

He’s typed out, _It's Christmas,_ but before he sends it, his phone buzzes three times in quick succession.

_i’m sorry_

_gotta go now_

_class_

Tommy sighs, hitting the back button.

_Okay talk to you later yeah?_

He waits a few seconds. No bubble pops up. He huffs and closes the app.

Tubbo's sent him at least fifty memes he's found on Reddit throughout the school day so Tommy immerses himself in those instead of whatever the fuck's going on with his older brother.

Loud clopping draws his attention away from a video of two South Park characters.

A tall, stern faced lady he vaguely recognizes from various school assemblies marches down the steps in chunky, impractical heels. There’s a stack of brightly printed flyers clutched in one of her sharp manicured hands. 

Carelessly, she flicks a flyer towards his face, the paper skimming his nose. Tommy goes cross-eyed to focus on the words emblazoned in size 36 Comic Sans.

 _Getting Ready for College!_ And underneath that is clipart of a worm in an apple wearing a graduation cap and glasses.

He shakes his head.

"No thanks," Tommy says, looking up at the woman.

She narrows her beady eyes at him.

Tommy doesn't yield.

She huffs, withdraws the paper, and clops away.

* * *

 _At a cheeky 11 years old, Model United Nations is the last thing Tommy wants to spend his precious after-school time doing._ Unfortunately, since Techno’s in the club, Tommy has to tag along too to make their schedules easier on Phil. Tommy was originally excited to go to the same middle school as his big brother, but—as he’s found over the past two years of being fostered and then adopted—Techno Blade-Craft is a lame, boring smartass. The third week of school and he’s dragged down by his brother’s loserness. For not the first time, Tommy curses the fact that it’s Techno and not Wilbur who’s closer to his age.

Upon entering the classroom, goosebumps rise on Tommy’s skin. The door swings shut behind them, hitting Tommy with another rush of cold air.

“It’s freezing in here,” he hisses to Techno, hands shooting up to rub at his arms.

Techno, with that stupid red parka he never takes off, is unmoved. “Maybe you should wear more than those dumb red and white shirts.”

“Maybe you should shut your mouth,” Tommy says, though the effect is dulled by how he’s shaking like a maraca filled with bones.

Techno waves a hand towards the man standing by the whiteboard at the far wall. “Bring it up with Mr. Atwenty if it bothers you that much.”

Tommy huffs. “Does he think it’s Antarctica? We’re not polar bears.”

“Polar bears don’t live in Antarctica,” is all his brother has to offer before he’s walking off to the front of the room.

Techno sits in the front row because he’s a bitch like that. Tommy lingers at the back of the room. He surveys the beige walls and faintly marked whiteboards. The single student desks with bent and dented chairs. The holes in the ceiling, some with pencils still stuck in them like the Sword of Damocles. There’s a boy wearing a blue hoodie leaning back precariously in his seat and a brown haired boy in overalls sitting on top of the desk.

Tommy plops down next to the one other person who looks just as miserable to be there as him. Even the Santa hat propped on his head can’t brighten the vibe of the boy slumped over in his chair.

His fingers play along the edge of the desk, wincing when he grazes something that might be dried chewing gum. There’s an equation penciled on the wooden surface surrounded by various hasty calculations and in the very uppermost corner is a messily carved dick. From the front of the room, he hears murmurs of conversations while they wait for the meeting to start.

Tommy lasts roughly one second in silence. He turns to the boy sitting next to him.

“Hey,” he says, because he’s an extrovert even when he’s pouting. “I’m Tommy.”

The boy glances over at him, dark transition lenses sizing him up. “Deo.”

"Good to meet you, Deo," Tommy says brightly. After a second, he frowns. "Why are you wearing a Santa hat? It's September."

Deo shrugs. “Why not?”

Tommy considers that. “Too shay,” he says. Then, "Tell me, Deo, who's your favorite woman?"

Deo gives him a wary look and Tommy knows that they're gonna be the best of friends.

* * *

“All aboard the Dream express. Destination: the Craft House.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, climbing into the passenger's seat. He ducks his head, taking extra care not to bump his head against the top of the door, something which Dream never let him live down.

“You’re such a loser," he says, pulling the door closed behind him. 

"Says you," Dream replies smartly, twisting in his seat to back out of the parking space.

Clicking his seat belt into place, Tommy sticks his tongue out at the back of Dream's blond head.

"I would hit you if I wasn't driving."

"You couldn't touch me, bitch."

Tommy earns an elbow to the shoulder for his words.

When he started high school last year, Phil declared Tommy was no longer required to join whatever nerdy extracurriculars his brothers were in, provided he arranged rides home for himself every day Phil isn't available. Making friends with cool upperclassmen like Dream meant he was free from the burden of Academic Decathlon and the National Honor Society. 

Dream pulls out of the parking lot and says, "Play something that isn't Travis Scott and you're the greatest person in the world."

Tommy smiles, snatching the aux cord out of the cup holder and fiddling with his phone until the soft sound of his favorite playlist is playing from Dream's shitty radio. 

It's not that he didn't enjoy car rides with Wilbur or Techno before, but Wilbur would always insist on playing _his_ music and Tommy would have an easier time getting conversation out of a log than Techno.

Tommy likes Dream because Dream hands him the aux cord without asking and only complains a little about his music choices.

“So," Dream says, fingers tapping on the wheel. "What's the plan for winter break? Is Wilbur doing his door to door Mariah Carey carols again? Do I need to make a spreadsheet on gingerbread builds again to compete with Techno?”

"Will's not coming home for Christmas." Tommy deepens his voice and mimics Wilbur's accent, _"T_ _oo much school work_ , he says." He wrinkles his nose. "What a bitch."

Dream frowns. "Oh."

"It's fine, though," Tommy says with blasé he learned from the best. “It’s all…” He flounders for a second. “...fine.” 

The light ahead turns red, so Dream brings the car to a slow stop. Tommy picks at the hem of his baseball tee. The ticking of the turn signal runs under the melody from the speakers.

"What else is on the agenda then?" Dream says way too casually, "Is your dad gonna teach you to drive?"

Concern spreads across his features. “I can walk, Dream, if it’s too—”

“No, no, no, no.” Dream shakes his head vigorously. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t mind driving you, it’s no trouble, but… I mean, I’m graduating this year, Tommy, can’t be your chauffeur if I’m hundreds of miles away.”

“Right,” Tommy says. On the sidewalk outside the passenger’s window, a boy on a bike swerves as two girls blow past him, ponytails flying in the wind. Somewhere behind, a crossing guard blows a whistle. Tommy turns back to his friend. “Where are you going again?”

He catches the edge of a smile on Dream’s face. “Same school as George. We’re getting an apartment together.”

“Of course you are.” Tommy reckons Sapnap’s gonna save a lot of money on college applications next year. The fabric of the universe itself would probably split apart if those three were separated.

"I've got plans," Tommy says, shifting back in his seat, "Don't worry about me, big man."

Tommy flicks up the volume on his Spotify, Khai Dreams filling the car, and Dream takes the cue to leave it be.

They spend the rest of the drive in silence.

_"Need to figure out my shit so I can leave it all behind."_

* * *

_Tommy pushes through the entrance of the cafeteria, wincing at the sudden blast of heat that hits him._ The thermostats at Urth Middle really only do _Antarctica_ or _Hell._ He tosses a glance over his shoulder to make sure his friend is still following him. Luke gives him an impatient look, nudging his backpack to herd him further into the room.

Tommy speeds up his stride. Luke falls in step next to him.

"For real,” Tommy says, continuing his speech, “Luke, you’re a lifesaver. I don't know what I'd do if it was two hours of just me and Techno's people all the time."

Luke huffs. "You're just lucky that art club's only on Wednesdays and I've got literally nothing better to do with my time."

Tommy lets Luke lead them to the lunch table they’ve claimed as their own. They narrowly dodge a pair of friends playing tag and give a wide berth to a loud group of eighth grade boys standing in the walkway as they make their way over. Their area is mostly unpopulated save for a vaguely familiar blue hoodie seemingly napping at the end of the table.

Dropping his backpack on the ground, Tommy slides into the bench. Luke drops down across from him. As he pulls out his lunch bag, Tommy does a scan of his surroundings. His brother’s pink hair is annoyingly visible at the edge of the cafeteria. There's a few recognizable faces from various classes he's had. He catches a glimpse of a Santa hat across the room. Tommy grins and waves.

The pom-pom on the Santa flicks left and right before concluding that, yes, that wave is for him. Haltingly, Deo raises his own hand.

Tommy's grin gets impossibly wider.

“Who’s that?” Luke asks, mouth already full of burger.

“That’s Deo,” Tommy informs quickly. He pops open a plastic bag of custard creams. “He’s in MUN too so you’ll see him after school today. We’re best friends.”

Luke arches an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

“Not yet, but nobody’s ever resisted the Tommy Innit charm.” He pulls his face into a smirk like he's seen Wilbur's friend Schlatt do. It feels unnatural, but he holds it a few seconds longer just for the effect.

Shaking his head, Luke sighs. “Whatever you say, Tommy, whatever you say.”

Tommy shoves a biscuit into his mouth with the swagger of a con man but on a too scrawny sixth grader. _Look out UMS, Mr. Innit’s gonna rule these halls._

_"Socks on concrete, jolly rancher kids."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics in this chapter:  
> "fireflies" by khai dreams  
> "sunflower" by post malone and swae lee  
> "9pm on a sunday" by khai dreams  
> "summer friends" by chance the rapper
> 
> i italicized the first sentence of the middle school flashback scenes idk if it was necessary but i didn't know how else to make the time switches clear

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely based on my own school so sorry if some things don't make sense for where you live


End file.
